Circle
by Magada Bridger
Summary: Harry finds himself called to Hogwarts. "It's urgent, but not life threatening. Don't kill yourself trying to get here. It's just that we would like this settled before the night is through." Harry has no idea what he's in for.
1. Express

**Disclaimer -** Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.

**Express**

Albus Severus Potter looked at the tiny boy in front of him. Somehow, in all the confusion of leaving King's Cross, he and Rose had wound up, alone, save for the boy, in the last compartment on the Hogwarts Express. The tiny boy was fast asleep. Albus took in the olive skin, the shiny black curls, and handsome features.

"Hey, Rose?" Rose looked at him. Then she followed his gaze to the second boy. "How old do you think he is? He doesn't look old enough to be a first year."

"He must be. He's on the express isn't he?" Rose turned back to her book. Any worries about the sleeping boy could wait until he was awake to answer questions.

Albus sat back as well, looking out the large window. He didn't think very much about anything but the scenery as it flew by. They were passing open fields, overgrown and heavily splattered with wildflowers.

"It reminds me of home." The new voice, soft though it was, filled the compartment. Albus jumped clear out of his skin. His mindless watching now a thing of the past, Albus stared at the boy who had just woken and spoken. "Don't die there, my friend. I didn't mean to scare you like that. Guess you were farther out that I thought."

"Who are you?" Albus heart was beating rather too hard for him to appreciate the rudeness of what he blurted out. The other boy seemed entirely unfazed by it.

"Zaiaas Reed," he said simply. No more information was forthcoming. Just as Albus was thinking of what to ask next, and how to sound kinder doing it, he was given another small jolt to his senses. This time the voice belonged to Rose who he had merely forgotten was there.

"Have you ever been to Hogwarts before?" She looked expectant like she was about to find out how to make boys into Christmas presents. She leaned closer to Zaiaas. He seemed unperturbed by here encroaching figure.

"I don't remember any of the details, if that's what you want, miss. But yes, I have been there." He smiled at her. It was a kind of smile that made you believe you were well liked and entirely welcome to just be yourself around the wearer.

"Oh," Rose seemed disappointed, but a small smile appeared on he lips for him. Everyone waited for a moment. Albus' mind rushed, there were several things he wanted to ask this odd boy, but which should be first. Zaiaas, on the other hand, was content to oblige the silence.

"Zaiaas," Albus hesitated for a moment, and then simply let a question slip out, "what woke you?"

"Smelled food," he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Albus found himself bewildered: food on a train? The dark haired boy's face lightened, "And here it is," he said sitting up.

A nice looking witch pulled back the compartment door. "Anything from the trolley dears?" She smiled at the eager look on the smaller boy's face. "Try a pumpkin pasty, dear? They're lovely." She motioned to a small stack of brightly orange packages.

"No thanks, ma'am. I'll just look. Feast for the eyes and all that, you know."

Rose looked around at him in bewilderment. "You woke up for the food," she said. "Aren't you going to buy anything?" Zaiaas didn't move, but spoke without hesitation or concern.

"Haven't got any money." He stared on at the confetti colors of the loaded down cart. Albus was aghast. This boy had been sent to a place he knew essentially nothing about, without a cent, and he seemed not to care.

"Oh, well, my." She hesitated for a moment. "Dear for a look like that, I can't resist. Take your pick." There was a nervous flash of realization that she may have left the offer a little too open-ended. Albus thought so too. If he had had no money, he would get hold of all the food he could, just in case.

"I think I'll try one of those pastries, ma'am." Zaiaas obviously didn't use the same logic that Albus, and it appeared Rose, who seemed slightly surprised, did. He seemed to be operating on a version of caution and flattery will get you everywhere. "If you think they're good. I'm sure I'll like them." Another one of his all encompassing smiles sealed the deal. Even without money Zaiaas Reed had just earned himself an end to the sharp pains in his stomach. He accepted the treat gratefully and sat back in his place by the window, waiting patiently for the witch to finish with the other two children.

After the witch had left, Rose whirled on Zaiaas. She was blustering at him for information even before her thick red hair had settled. She seemed to think the whole situation very contemptible. Her words grew sharper, though not vulgar, as she accused him of charming the poor lady. And through it all, the black eyed boy sat quietly, allowing her to run herself out. Albus on the other hand was startled into inaction. Never before in his life had he seen Rose so very angry.

Just as Albus was about to speak up, stop the angry words, Rose seemed to run out. She's stood there, the blotchy color of her cheeks looking strange beneath her freckles, fists clenched, saying nothing. There was a moment of relative stillness.

Zaiaas decided that she would say no more. Thus it was his turn. "I assure you, miss, that I did nothing to her. She did what she did because she wanted to." The statement was short and the words were cool, but Zaiaas did not sound angry. In fact he was not angry. He was disappointed. Generosity among European wizards was stilted and uneasy. He sighed. It was a shame that the children were as distrustful as those who had gone into war and come out the other side.

"Rosie, my dad would have done the same thing. And Grandma too." Albus words seemed to have an even greater effect on her than Zaiaas'. When she turned her attention to him she was significantly calmer. Her eyes seemed to say _you think they would just give things away to someone for free?_ "Really, Rose, think. If Dad or Grandma were faced with a child as gleeful at the sight of food as Zaiaas here was, even if they couldn't have any and weren't asking they would give them something. You know it. We're kids to her not dangerous, grown up Slytherins." Rose finally relaxed.

"So you are Rose? Pretty name, very fitting too." The smallest of the three turned his attention to the green eyed boy across from him. "I don't believe I know your name." He waited patiently for the tousle-haired boy to respond. It was clear that he would not go on without an answer.

Albus had no problems with that, though, and answered quickly to fill the semi-silence of the train compartment. "I am Albus Potter." He offered his hand and the boys shook.

Zaiaas, now more comfortable that those who surrounded him were trustworthy enough for names warmed into, what for him passed as, normalness. "What's a Slytherin?"

The three children fell into easy conversation as they explained all about Hogwarts. Zaiaas ate his pumpkin pasty which, as promised, was very tasty. They spoke happily for most of the remaining trip, 

and though Zaiaas would seem to float away out through the window on his right for stretches of time, everything remained comfortable between the three.

When night fell Albus changed into his Hogwarts robes. Zaiaas made no move to do anything of the sort. He was again lost in thought outside the window. When Albus tapped his shoulder and said he should change, they would be there soon; the curly topped boy did not look up and said with little concern that he didn't have any and not to worry it would be fine. Albus motioned for Rose to be quiet. He was beginning to understand that this strange boy really did have a handle on things even if others could not comprehend.

The train arrived in Hogsmeade Station. Following instructions, they clambered off the train with just themselves. The were the last to reach Hagrid's calling form, save for a girl, who looked in the moonlight as though she were made entirely out of the same, who walked up from another direction at about the same time.

After a long moment, where Hagrid stared at a spot just in front of Zaiaas, they were lead down a path. The group of moderately sized children and one half-giant stopped on the banks of the black lake to drink in their first look at Hogwarts castle. "No more'n four to a boat." Movement returned and they all clambered into the wide shallow boats.

It was at this point that Zaiaas abandoned Albus and Rose. He wanted to share a boat with the moonlight girl. They both appeared to be stragglers. Shine, as he was now thinking of her, was asking a black boy if she and the boy with her could join him. She and the boy, who had black hair and much the same skin tone, were on opposite sides of the boat. They leaned down and placed their hands on the side, then, after a moment of what appeared to be silent communication, they boarded in exactly the same fashion.

Zaiaas was now only a few feet from this particular dingy. The black harried boy spotted him and in an instant was waving him over. Shine looked over her shoulder to see what her companion was waving at.

"Oh. Would you like to join us?" Zaiaas nodded that he would and stepped easily into the boat as if it were not floating. The black boy seemed to find this far more impressive than the others. Hastily he introduced everyone then asked before Zaiaas had finished helloing, "how'd ya do that without filppin' the boat?"

Zaiaas laughed warmly, at home in the presence of these people. "Good balance," he looked at his left foot, "and far too much time in canoes." The simple answer was enough and he smiled brightly. The group went silent as they began to cross the lake with a small lurch. Zaiaas watched the girl next to him, whose name turned out to be Covey Longbottom; she had an air of disinvolved involvement that pulled his mind gently in her direction.

He let his left hand drag in the water; it was cool and refreshing, full of live things. He looked down from the castle into the water. There was a gigantic squid swimming below his hand. It rose higher under the water and Zaiaas leaned over the side of the boat.

"Hey! Yeh daft boy! What do yeh think yer doin'? Yeh'll fall in!" Startled by the shout Zaiaas whipped his head around. The boat gave a starboard wobble. As if just to make sure, the black eyed boy knew they would not tip, the squid raised one spade-ended tentacle out of the water and lifted him up. The boy's stomach was wet now. He pulled up his knees and placed his hands carefully, he pushed himself up onto all fours, better ensuring that he would no take a swift tumble into the cool water. Zaiaas now looked down into one great yellow eye, only mildly distorted by the moving water.

As gently as he had been lifted, Zaiaas was set back in his seat. The Giant Squid waved his tentacle for a moment then dove out of sight.

The inhabitants of every boat stared at him. An awestruck silence hung in the night. Even the crickets seem stunned at the quiet end of his ordeal. Zaiaas bilked for a moment. He too was a little surprised, not by the actions of the great mollusk, but by the muteness it caused.

Zaiaas tipped over backward. Laying in the bottom of the rickety vessel, he roared with bubbly-sweet laughter.

--

Author's Note: I will not beg for reviews. It is nice to be able to see that people are reading. Something like: **I read it**, **Good** or Bad: will suffice.


	2. In the Great Hall

**Disclaimer -** Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.

**In the Great Hall**

There were the obligatory oohs and aahs as the first years entered the great hall. Professor Filius Flitwick suppressed a laugh, but not a grin. It was as though the hall were charmed to have this effect on the newest students. He stopped the gawking gaggle before the staff table and went to fetch the three legged stool and sorting hat. When placed upon the stool the hat began to sing.

Professor McGonagall looked over the new group of first years. Immediately Weasley red hair jumped out at her. Ah, the girl, that meant the younger potter boy would be here as well. Then a white shirt and a pair of very faded blue pants seemed to grow out of the mass of black robes. This felt oddly familiar to the Headmistress.

The hat finished its song. Professor Flitwick took a moment, a painful moment for the children, to thank his lucky stars that the small platform (for feasts only) made him just tall enough to see into the terrified faces about to be sorted. With a deep breath he called out:

"Aznix, Charlene."

A non-descript looking girl with brown hair and brown eyes ran forward. She smiled at Flitwick and promptly plopped herself on the battered old stool. The hat, which Flitwick had charmed to hover above the chair, settled on top of the bridge of her nose and on her pony tail. A few moments silence and then:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Several of the huddled first years jumped. The Hufflepuff table burst into cheers. The oldest boy at the table jumped up, stood above his plate and began to dance. He chanted '**We got the first one!**' until the young dark haired man sitting to the left of the headmistress' chair put a stop to his celebration. "Enough, Kennedy!"

The cheers and clapping ceased as "Aznix, Emily" was called. After a short, quiet moment the hat confidently deemed her "RAVENCLAW!" It was the blue tables turn to cheer now. Again near stillness reigned.

"Aznix, Louise!"

A murmur broke out. _Triplets?_ After a wait no longer than that for her sisters, Louise was pronounced "GRYFFINDOR!" Godric's house cheered. The clapping, however, was a little slow. The seated students were looking left and right as though something wanted to be discussed. "Well now you've got one in each house, Jackie!" called a boy behind and to the left of Zaiaas. It seemed he and this boy were the only ones who did not find it strange that the sisters should each wind up in different dorms.

Zaiaas stood quietly, patiently as 'Baker, Harriet' and 'Borgin, Andrew' were both became Ravenclaws. Now that it seemed any real excitement had passed, the smallest student tipped his head back to study the magnificent ceiling. He smiled as "Jordan, Remus" was announced Gryffindor. His head snapped back to center as:

"Longbottom, Covey!" was called. The air next to him shifted as she moved away. He had been so content in her presence he had forgotten she was there. The hat stayed silent a very long time. Zaiaas had just begun to wonder if the hat would indeed say anything at all when "GRYFFINDOR!" erupted from the rip at its brim. He grinned and clapped loudly.

"Longbottom, Nels!" came next. The second boy from his boat was now to be sorted. _So they're twins. That explains the exceptional timing they had. _A much shorter wait and he was also proclaimed "GRYFFINDOR!"

Black eyes studied the room for a few minuets, turning to the floating candles as more first years were sorted. He raised his eyebrows as "Ra, Soren!" was called. He became "HUFFLEPUFF!" which seemed to be the most spirited group. Shortly Zaiaas heard:

"Reed, Zaiaas!" He retuned his attention to the proceedings. Only two other students were left, Rose and a girl with strawberry blonde hair. When he reached the deputy Headmaster, he paused. Smiling easily he said, "thank you for not butchering my name," and sat on the stool.

The world seemed to disappear as the hat covered his eyes. '_Ah, you are a different one. From the United States of America. Your time here doesn't matter. Plenty of courage, sharp mind, I sense that you are cunning even if you don't know it, and loyal. __**Very**__ loyal._' What does that have to do with anything? '_Why it shows me where you ought to be._' That's stupid. '_Well it doesn't matter with you I'm afraid. I guess well go on to lineage. Hufflepuff. And let us see… Ah that's Slytherin._ I could have told you that. '_My, really. Most students would not have made the connection._' We have a family tree. '_Still, well done. Alright then –'_

"SLYTHERPUFF"

"HUFFELRIN"

"Oh, Bother." And the hat went silent.

--

Author's Note: Just so you know. I'm in the process of editing. Any help is greatly appreciated.


	3. Under the Starry Sky

**Disclaimer -** Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.

**Under the Starry Sky**

"… There's only two students left to be sorted. I'd like to get this over with before we begin dinner as the three of them don't have anywhere to sit." Harry examined the face looking out of the fire at him. It betrayed only a small amount of urgency, looking as if it merely wished for expediency.

"Neville, what exactly happened?" The familiar head gave a sigh. The other man glanced down for a moment before replying. Then he looked Harry straight in the eye, hoping he would be believed.

"I really don't know how to explain. You'll just have to come. It's urgent, but not life threatening. Don't kill yourself trying to get here. It's just that we would like this settled before the night is through."

"Alright, Nev. I'll leave now." Harry broke the connection and stood to find his wife rather closer than he expected. _Have I become complacent, or is it just her who can sneak up on me?_ "Ginny. I… Well, Neville's asked for help and… I don't know how long I'll be gone." He gave up explaining the bizarre conversation he had just had with his former roommate.

"It's alright, Harry. I heard enough. Just hurry up and get back, Lilly and I might run-a-muck without any male influence to keep us on track. Well, there is Ron, but he doesn't really count."

Harry nodded and left the room to collect his broom, invisibility cloak, and a small bag of clothes. Stepping out the front door he mounted his broom, threw on his cloak, and disappeared into the night sky.

Passing over London, Harry realized that it would be best if he landed and apparated. He set down in the middle of a bridge, currently devoid of traffic. Concentrating for a moment, he was gone with a noise reminiscent of a cracked ankle.

Harry landed before a winged boar; on his right was a tall, wrought iron gate. Harry knew that this late at night the gates to Hogwarts Castle would be locked. Without significant deliberation the slender man hoisted himself atop the thick wall. "Erodelbmub." _How in the world did Neville say that so easily?_

From here he could see only one room fully illuminated. _Guess that's where I'll go._ There was a soft flump as Harry landed on the ground. Straightening, he gave a nod in the direction of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's tomb, the boy who lived set off at a brisk pace toward the front doors of the castle.

Harry swung the massive door open with a little effort. A poltergeist hanging in mid-air was not the first thing he expected to see. _Peeves should be in the Great Hall mucking up the Professors frustrations. Not, just… hanging here. Something must be wrong._

"Peeves, has Mr. Filch been hurt?" An injury to the school caretaker (made by someone else) was the only thing that made the pointy little spirit so still.

"No." Peeves sounded as though he was considering crying. "Look for yourself." He pointed in the direction of another large set of doors. The Great Hall.

--

Author's Note: Hmm, these chapters are getting short. Well, I try to break them up in a purposefull way.


	4. Angels and Demons

**Disclaimer -** Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.

"_Soul of a Sailor_" belongs to Kenny Chesney  
"_When You Come Back Down_" is property of Nickel Creek  
This is not a song fic, they forward the story, they are not large chunks of a song. The lines were selected carefully so I ask you read them as they are written, if you choose no to you will miss something. I recommend that you listen to these songs in order to get the full feel for the scene, not necessarily _while_ you are reading, I would find that difficult. Also note that the characters _are_ singing the whole song, even if I don't subject you to it. For clarification's sake the italics regarding the song are for effect they aren't broadcasting telepathically or anything.

**Angles and Demons**

No one seemed to notice Harry, but then he saw the overly young muggle boy blinded by the hat. _I wonder what the sorting hat is up to._ The boy looked to be six years old and athletic. He was probably handsome, except that too much of his face was hidden for Harry to decide. The tone of his skin led Harry to believe that his family had immigrated from… he didn't know where. Wherever it was it certainly had more sun that England; he looked a little washed out.

"Mr. Potter! It's good you arrived so soon."

"Hello, Professor McGonagall." Harry's eyes never left the boy on the platform, on the stool, under the hat. "Is he why I'm here?" Now Harry looked up. He seemed to be expecting answers. "And why is he damp?"

"I see you learned your interrogations skills from Professor Snape." He felt a gentle weight on his shoulder and let himself be led. "Albus' portrait told me that the hat had some difficulty placing you. Of course that was a few years ago so I may have put an overly hopeful spin on his comments."

"He told you that?"

"Well, it was relevant at the time. Vivian Montague was having trouble understanding why she hadn't been placed in Slytherin." The Headmistress said this in a mildly absentminded and decidedly unconcerned way. _Ah, well. All water under the bridge now._ "Perhaps you can explain the hat's function to him in a way we cannot."

Harry suddenly understood. He looked over the sea of little persons who had gathered to stare at the tiny child. Gently, Harry navigated his way through them. His attention was slowly narrowing to the boy; he was impossibly patient, sitting still and quite in the dark.

Harry lifted the brim of the old hat after a brief hello. The face that looked up at him was indeed handsome. Wide black eyes, with features to be jealous of, all framed by coarse black curls. Harry couldn't help but smile. There was something very familiar about the weather worn face.

"How did you get wet?" Harry was nearly whispering, but the volume seemed appropriate even in the noisy room.

"Fun with the squid." The answer was simple, but gave their whole conversation an air of conspiracy that Harry enjoyed. "Do I have to sit here much longer, sir?" By now almost every soul in the room had noticed the interaction and was watching oppressively.

Harry did his best to ignore them. "Just until you're sorted. What's the trouble?"

"This is stupid." Harry had just opened his mouth to respond, when –

"I can be whatever I want when I grow up. No scalp cover is gonna tell me otherwise." The boy was smiling, as if repeating something his mother had told him in the middle of frying bacon.

"Well, it didn't tell…" Harry stopped mid sentence as a noise filled his head. He looked back at the doors. Peeves floated inside, he was staring out into the night, grasping Filch's hand. Harry looked back to the boy; his face was frozen, blank and staring. Harry squeezed his shoulder, and then ran outside.

--

The cool air hit Harry solidly. The sound was loud and seemed to be coming from across the lawns, in the forest. Slipping easily now into the role of commander, Harry began to shout orders to the staff who lined the stairs and doorway. It was dark and the boy-who-lived worried that one of the forbidden forests residents was about to be bold and he wanted plenty of guards to make sure the students stayed in and the noisy thing stayed out.

Quick as a shot something gray stopped next to him. It was the unsorted boy from the great hall. He stood in a stance that clearly said he was ready to fight. He was unafraid. The child again gave Harry reason for pause. The caterwauling reentered his consciousness. Switching his attention to the woods brought his heart to a stop.

Something dark, fast, and quite frankly scary, was bounding their way. Recovering his senses, yet again, the wild haired man drew his wand. _If this thing wants a fight that's what it'll get!_ The surprises, however, were not about to stop.

The small body by his knee walked serenely forward. He hummed, lifting his hand. The creature loped to a stop just out of reach. The angelic voice began to sing. "_A brother in arms just like me, I was born a son of the sea_…" there was a magic in the melody. The tiny hand rested on a giant black head.

The song continued outside of Harry's concentration. Green eyes studied the frightful mass before him. It was truly a magical creature, of that Harry was sure. Fur and scales blended seamlessly all over its body. As the great head moved affectionately under the slender appendage it became apparent that the strange animal had only one covering that transformed from soft to hard based on movement and intention. A long feline body was attached to that head. A protective ridge ran down its back and tail, which was tipped with a spaded club. Four powerful limbs ended in oversized paws with magnificent claws.

The song penetrated Harry's thoughts. The voice was changing now. The young father forced himself to refocus on the angelic boy. "_Said you know we're both a dyin' breed_." The spirit of Severus Snape overshadowed the boy, translucent but in color. His face was slowly tipping to the sky. "_An' living out life in the boat we're in._" Harry couldn't remember the man looking this relaxed and content in all his years. He moved forward hoping to see the expression in those beetle black eyes. They were closed; a peaceful expression lay across the upturned face. The moonlight mad him young. "_Let my heart take me, where it wants to go, that's the soul of a sailor, the soul of a sailor_."

He faded away. Silence rained supreme in the night, undisturbed by the massive creatures purring. The last strains of song faded from Harry's ears. He had never appreciated, until just now, what a lovely voice his potions master had had. _You know I believe he was clean—_

Another song reached Harry's ears. He looked up, past Headmaster Dumbledore's tomb. A figure was coming over the rise. Obviously the song was issuing from them. _At least this is a person._ He felt an inordinate amount of relief at this.

"_You gotta leave me now, you gotta go alone, you gotta chase a dream, one that's all your own, before it slips away._"

Harry looked down at the unsorted boy. He had dropped to his knees at some point, hugging the thing about the neck. It nuzzled him happily. Harry was put in mind of a two year old Hagrid with a current sized Fang. _Quiet a lot of singing tonight, my little friend. And it seems to all be in your honor._

The child stood and looked off at the singer. He took a breath and answered. "_When you're soarin' through the air, I'll be your solid ground, take every chance you dare, I'll still be there, __**when you come back down**__. When you come back down_." A beautiful harmony.

It was becoming clear that it was a boy crossing the ground to them. From here Harry could tell that the boy was wearing a white shirt and had nearly waist length auburn hair. He walked about as fast as he sang.

"_I'll be the other hand, that always holds the line, connectin' in between your sweet heart and mine, I'm strung out on that wire_."

It was Professor McGonagall who answered this time, in what severed as the chorus, though the words were different than what both boys had sung together. He was almost here now. Close enough for Harry to see that he was about the size of Hermione that first day on the train.

"_I'll catch you when you fall_." Despite what nonsense it was, the-man-who-defeated-Voldemort was comforted hearing those words in that voice. Now he could see a smile in this new boy's light face. It was clear that he was directing his song to the unsorted child. They stood before each other now. The creature had turned to stand at the black haired boy's side, facing the new comer.

"When you come back down." The second song was finished now. They looked each other in the eyes for a full minute. Harry sensed the darker boy soften at the same moment a grin broke over the larger child's face.

As if he'd been stuck with a hammer by god, the smiling child pitched into the muddy earth.

--

Author's Note: This round of editing is done. Hopefully, I will have another chapter up soon.


	5. Fainted

**Disclaimer -** Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.

**Fainted**

_Oh, my._ Zaiaas gazed, mildly surprised, at the fallen boy. He looked behind himself to the green eyed man who had paid him so much attention. "I didn't do it."

Harry forced a smile through his shock. Professor McGonagall tried to ease the child's worry; he seemed to have an unusual affect on her as well. "No one thinks you did." A blink and then the head turned back down, curls swishing back into place.

"We should probably roll him over." After a pause the little boy's astute statement sent the adults into a flurry of action. Neville Longbottom kneeled by the unconscious body. He rested a hand on the small shoulder for a moment. Then as if some question had been satisfied, he rolled the unintroduced child over.

The boy's front was covered with mud. The amount of the substance upon his face was most likely extremely difficult to breathe through. Professor Flitwick pointed his wand carefully, gave it a deliberate flick, and suddenly the offending muck was gone.

Zaiaas and his creature friend moved to stand beside McGonagall. The stern looking woman turned her attention to the miniature figure when she felt a small hand slip into her own. "This won't be over quickly, will it Headmistress?"

"There is no way to tell how fast someone will wake up from a fainting spell. It depends entirely on the individual." Briefly, the elderly woman wished the child would look up at her; then she was glad he did not. As strange as the child had proven to be hence far, she would probably not be able to adequately deal with whatever expression he bore. Indeed, Zaiaas' face did not bear the worry of those around him; generally accepting, with an undercurrent of concern, would have been a fair assessment.

Several moments passed where the pair watched the scene unfold before them. For McGonagall, years of coping with the mysterious happenings of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry allowed her to feel very little at all. Zaiaas was not nearly old enough to possess the same and the teacher wondered mildly what he was actually thinking. Perhaps he is simply talented at hiding his concern. Merlin knows Severus was born that way.

The ring of adults broke away from the small form and Madam Pomfrey levitated him onto a hovering stretcher. As the matron began to move away, wide black eyes looked to the Headmistress. Can we follow? they said. McGonagall made to follow the gaggle of people back into the castle, boy in hand, creature in tow.

--

In the entrance hall most of the staff split off to join their colleagues wrangling students back to the Great Hall. However, confident that her Deputy-Head could handle the situation, and compelled by the only student to ever hold her hand, Minerva McGonagall followed Potter, Pomfrey, and Longbottom up the stairs.

The group rose above the clamor on the ground level and proceeded to the infirmary. The look of the room earned it the name of hospital wing. That name was lived up to in every way except for the smell. Headmaster Dumas Clagg had invented a spell in the 1660s to remove the affronting odor that pervaded places like Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Woodend Hospital. In fact the room seemed to bear no scent at all.

This sure is a big nurse's office. Zaiaas observed quietly as his new friend was placed on a bed part way down the long room. The witch in the white uniform shooed the men out of her way and pointed her wand at the still form. As the moments passed the unsorted child stood, ever patient.

After several minutes McGonagall's aged eyes turned again to the handsome creatures beside her. The boy's left hand was buried in the deep… fur… of the animal's head. He was watching calmly. Does nothing faze this child? He waits as if he expects the world will sort out everything around him entirely without his help. She was reminded of another child, one who said that, in his words, shit happens. That child also had his mouth promptly washed out with soap.

"He'll not awake Minerva." Poppy Pomfrey's voice snapped the Scottish woman from her musing. She raised her eyebrows to the matron, indicating that she had better explain, and quickly. "He seems to be perfectly fine other than the coma. I have absolutely no explanation for why a perfectly healthy young lad would pass out and fall into a coma. I assure you this is highly irregular. I wish-"

"Madam Pomfrey! We agreed years ago to let sleeping headmasters snore."

"I was going to say that I wished Severus was here. He always seemed to know what to do with my 'highly irregular' patients. You included, Potter." The graying healer sighed. Then she indicated the boy still connected to both the Headmistress and the strange creature that had come out of the forest. "And I rather think there is no need for the unwavering professor persona. It doesn't seem to work on the boy and Merlin knows these two have out grown it." The last was directed at Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom who both proceeded to look totally unabashed.

Then, too, Professor McGonagall sighed. "I suppose now is as good a time as any to deal with this child as well." Zaiaas snapped his attention from his new pet to the adults in the room. "He must be sorted before the Feast can proceed and I imagine the students are as hungry as I am."

"I'll tell you what, Professor." Neville offered. "Why doesn't Mr. Reed sit with Harry and I, and we'll see if we can't settle this thing over dinner."

"Perhaps that would be a good idea, Neville."

--

Professor McGonagall conjured a new chair for Harry next to Neville. Before she could attempt a second Zaiaas Reed had scrambled up onto the arm of the new chair. The boy was perched happily; unaware, or indulgent, of the stares directed at him by his soon to be teachers. Harry was the first to awake from this stupor. The situation was actually quite humorous.

Harry moved to the other side of his semi-occupied chair. "I take it you would like to sit with me?"

"I'm a little short," the boy said. He was absolutely matter of fact and to further that impression it seemed that he did not mind if the-boy-who-lived was the only one who knew. Just then, Hagrid appeared behind the unsorted child. Harry looked up to see the half giant grinning down at the olive skinned youth.

"Yeh really are conten' ter jus' let the world go on by, so long as yeh understan' to yer conten'men', eh." The dark head swiveled to meet the eyes of the largest staff member. Bewildered, Zaiaas simply did nothing. He seemed to believe that if the statement was important it would be explained and if it was not, oh well. "Yeh remind me o' the younges' teacher in Hogwarts history. 'E was the younges' headmaster too, come ter think of it. Well, actually, yeh remind me of 'im at two years ol'. Poor, boy's mother quickly got rid o' any conten'men' 'e ever knew." Harry wondered just exactly which professor had been the youngest. It couldn't be Neville, his mother was insane, certainly not in any position to prevent contentment. I'm sure Hermione knows. Zaiaas, meanwhile, just continued to look patiently at the overly large man in front of him, behind him. "Ye remind me o' one o' the bes' friends I ever 'ad. An' at the bes' time in 'is life. I'm glad yer 'ere."

Wide, black eyes blinked. Then an elated smile emblazoned itself on the young boys face. "I'm glad you're here too, Professor." Faced with that smile and sentiment, any awkwardness Hagrid had felt trying to make the tiny child understand him vanished.

"Now, I'll be havin' none o' tha' pr'fresser hogwash outside o' class, yeh here." He wagged his finger sternly. "It's Hagrid." At this Zaiaas giggled. Then he raised his arm in the fashion of a child his size, but not his age, asking for a hug. Hagrid happily obliged. The moment was sealed with an all encompassing smile for his newest friend, and then for the entire faculty once he had been returned to his seat on the armrest of Harry's chair.

--

Author's Note: Let me know if there are any words I repeated too often. It's really a pet peeve of mine, but it's late and I'm afraid I didn't catch them all. Remember reviews are always welcome, just like candy.


	6. Fed Watered and Put to Bed

**Disclaimer -** Wish I owned it. Wish I were in it. Alas, neither is true.

**Fed, Watered, and Put to Bed**

_Professor Snape was right. Ninety-eight percent of the student population is completely oblivious._ Neville Longbottom looked over the students, chattering away, and unaware. _This makes me want to scream CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Maybe I will; Professor McGonagall is going to need to get their attention soon anyhow. _The young professor gave the room one more good look. Suddenly Neville realized just why his potions master had a soft spot for the Weasley twins. Kennedy, living embodiment of Fred and George, despite the fact that the latter was still very much alive, was actively keeping the attention of every student within twenty feet of himself directed away from the staff table. _Everyone's accept his own._ His own children definitely took after their mother's side of the family, it looks like no one is home, but they know more of what goes on than anyone else. Anthony Vale was reclining in the far left corner of the Hall; his vigil was probably more effective than all of the teachers combined. _He'll make an excellent head boy. _Rose Weasley was standing with her cousin Fred. The other girl yet to be sorted sat on the edge of the dias, chin in her hand, eyes closed.

CRACK!

An outstanding explosion rocked the Hall into silence. Neville spotted Ophelia Pierce's wand disappearing below the Ravenclaw table. _Impeccable timing, as usual. _An unexpected pick for head girl, Ophelia was working out beautifully. Hagrid had suggested the girl against Victorie Weasley; Ximora Hooch was out of the question, spending most of her extracurricular time evenly divided between quiddich and detention. The formerly unremarkable young woman had a sixth sense when it came to what people needed and, as far as the young teacher could tell, believed convention to be highly over-rated.

Taking advantage of the silence, Minerva McGonagall addressed the room. "The Sorting Hat has kindly agreed to sort the remaining students out of order. Please direct your attention to Professor Flitwick."

"Weasley, Rose!" the diminutive professor squeaked. After a pause, Fred gave her a gentle push toward the head table. Chewing on her thumb, Rose walked slowly to the stool. The rip that served as the Sorting Hat's mouth turned up, as though it was laughing. "GRYFFINDOR!" it boomed, and partially enthused clapping broke out in the hall.

"Zaggzey, Margaret." The blonde girl snorted like a piglet and scrambled gracelessly onto the three legged stool. It seemed obvious that she had fallen asleep. The Hat's smile got even wider.

"SLYTHERIN!" was a surprise to everyone. _Well almost everyone. _Neville was sure that Zaiaas Reed was shaking his curly little head at their stupidity.

--

Zaiaas shook his head softly. _For veterans, the teachers at this school sure aren't very observant._ The voice of the professor on his left pierced his thoughts. "Do you think us unobservant, Mister Reed?"

A flashing purple neon sign appeared in mid air, just barely off center, before, and above the staff table. 'Eat At Joe's' it winked.

"Yes." He did not avert his eyes to the person addressing him. Sureness in such a young boy was unusual. Neville Longbottom, however, had a theory. Small people have a charisma to make up for their lack of size, and even for a first year Zaiaas was tiny. There was certainly nothing stuck up about the boy, even though his words could often be mistaken for curt, the friendly, contented aura the boy was shrouded in quickly dissuaded any delusions of haughtiness.

"I will admit that I was surprised when Miss Zaggzey snorted. I can assure you, as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, from this angle I neither assumed her to be awake nor asleep." Neville smirked at the child. Little pink lips quirked back at him, mirroring the friendly expression. "Just like I don't presume to know anything about what goes on in that head of yours." Zaiaas mirrored his new professor's grin. The man was far smarter than others seemed to think. _But that's how it is with mad geniuses, isn't it?_

Responding to a yet unasked question, the black eyed boy spoke. "I prefer to do my communicating with as few words as possible."

"You are an open book for those who know how to read," a new voice cut in. It was a plump witch to the right of the headmistress. Zaiaas looked steadily into her eyes and between them hung a communication; this was not something to be advertised lightly. "You should eat. Our house elves are just as efficient as our head girl." Knowing that he had been understood, Zaiaas Reed gave the woman one of his patented smiles and turned to the food on the table.

--

"The Forest at the edge of the ground is forbidden. Anyone entering the Forest unauthorized will be severely punished. A list of banned products can be found on Mr. Filch's office door. Any further questions can be directed to upperclassmen. First years please follow your prefects to your common rooms." Professor McGonagall's speech concluded the welcome feast as the plates magically cleared themselves. A rumble of footsteps filled the hall. The teachers turned their attention to Zaiaas Reed, the unsorted boy.

"It would seem that Mr. Reed is lacking a place to call his own." The man stating the obvious was nigh seven feet tall and broad shouldered.

"He doesn't want to be labeled as one thing or another by the hat, who can't seem to place him anyway," Harry addressed the man. Looking a little exasperated, Harry blew the hair out of his eyes.

"You know what Professor Snape would say?"

"No, Goyle, I don't." Zaiaas noticed that Harry Potter seemed to become annoyed at the mention of this Professor Snape. Goyle gave the green-eyed man a sarcastic look, then continued as if he had not been interrupted.

"Do it Founders style!" The large man spread his hands and grinned to the group. His enthusiasm was echoed in many of the surrounding faces. Zaiaas wondered just exactly what 'founders style' was, but decided that since he would surely be subjected to it there was no need to ask.

"And what does that entail, Gregory?" The headmistress looked expectantly at her former student. _Tada._ A dark head tilted back a little further, as if ensuring the surrounding faculty that he was indeed listening.

"Each of the heads of house explains what characteristics they enjoy dealing with and which ones they are not particularly adept at dealing with. If he cannot choose based on the short comings of his potential _loco parentis _then we watch him for a week and decide amongst ourselves who can best aid his time here. I'll go first if you like." Here he turned his attention to Zaiaas.

"Yes, sir. That should work well." He smiled his smile up at the four heads, three who stood behind him, and Goyle who stood in front. The teachers smiled back to him and after a moment's silence the man before Zaiaas began to speak.

"I am the Head of Slytherin and Potions Professor. I have a fondness for musical children and generally the happier the better. I do not fare well with those who talk fast and have short comings when it comes to domestic problems." The curly head bobbed in acknowledgement and turned to the plump witch.

She blinked for a moment. He stared back. "My name is Pomona Sprout. I am Head of Hufflepuff and Professor of Herbology. I have a good sense of humor and am poor with melancholy students, comforting is no problem, it's with the unending blues that I fail. I have a short temper with anyone who acts as if they are better than someone else."

The tiny child tipped his head back to view the kind faced man directly behind him. They grinned at each other. "You already know me. I am Head of Gryffindor and I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. I view my students as part of my family but do not treat them like children. I do better with the independent type. I personally can be very forgetful and clash with students who regularly expect me to remember things outside my routine."

The last teacher to go was on Zaiaas' left and was eye level with him. "As I'm sure you have surmised I am Head of Ravenclaw. My students are sharp minded and I prefer them that way. I do not give long explanations and use magic to aid me far more often than most others."

Stillness rained for several minutes as the teachers waited to see who this mysterious little boy would choose and why; or if he would choose at all.

With finality he claimed, "Hufflepuff." In short order it was clear that he was not going to offer any explanation. Thoroughly disappointed, but relieved that the child had a home for his seven years, the group began to disperse.

Suddenly Mr. Filch appeared. "There is still the matter of his belongings. Or lack thereof."

--

Author's Note: A cookie to anyone who can find the references to other famous things I've snuk into the story.


End file.
